Scion of Cyador

CXLII

His Mightiness Toziel, Emperor of Perpetual Light, Heir to the Rational Stars, and Protector of the Steps to Paradise, lies under a light shimmercloth cover on the high bed in his private bedchamber in the Palace of Eternal Light. His face is flushed, yet pale under the flush. Ryenyel’s hand rests lightly on his forehead.

“Every audience…like this…” Toziel’s form shivers. “We…still…should not tell…”

“Just rest…” Ryenyel says gently. “You’ll be better in a bit.”

“Will you…though?” he murmurs.

“We do this together.” She squeezes his hand gently, but firmly. “You must rest now. We can talk when you are stronger.”

“…can’t rest…Tell me…”

“About what, dearest?”

“…ever have an heir?…Cyador ever have a true scion?”

“Majer Lorn has foiled two or possibly three attempts on his life or on that of his consort,” Ryenyel says. “As you know, yesterday he conducted an impressive display of Mirror Lancer power on the new parade grounds off Second Harbor Way. Rustyl is now consorted to Ceyla, the daughter of the Second Magus, and is convinced that he indeed should be First Magus, but I imagine he would settle for being your successor. Tasjan has made public certain papers that show Vyanat’s brother evaded Imperial tariffs. Tasjan has had others suggest that Vyel was killed to cover up Vyanat’s own tariff violations.”

“Poor Vyanat…acted quickly because he is an honorable man, and now he faces dishonor.” The Emperor pauses to gather breath. “…Because he wished to show that he would punish the unjust were they even his brother.” A lopsided smile appears on Toziel’s face and vanishes.

“The most honorable head of Dyjani House continues to maneuver to incite the merchanters, particularly the weaker large houses, like Kysan and Bluyet-against the Mirror Lancers, and to add more armsmen to the green-suited guards-”

“What of Sasyk?”

“As self-centered as ever. His second consort vanished on a short voyage from Cyad to Summerdock. After a time, he will find another young blonde woman.”

“You dislike him.” Toziel smiles.

“No more than you. He makes Tasjan seem principled.” Ryenyel’s fingers touch Toziel’s forehead. “You must rest. You must.”

“Can Lorn or Rustyl deal with Tasjan?”

“We will see, and before all that long.”

“That…I hope…” Toziel’s words break off into a fit of coughing. When the coughs cease wracking his tall and slender form, his eyes close.

Ryenyel’s hand remains lightly on his forehead, even as she also shivers, and her own complexion pales.